CH-090

90 You know, you can't fool me.

Spring arrives.

The Holy Capital, the Sacred Council Hall.

The first monthly financial meeting of the Holy See.

This meeting is informal, with only two attendees present.

One is Cardinal Victor, who must report the financial situation to the Pope and the Archbishops by the end of April.

The other is Father Agner, who has stood throughout the entire meeting from beginning to end, and who is perpetually responsible for the Church's jurisdictional treasuries and land taxes.

At this moment, Cardinal Victor merely glanced at the final figure on the account page, and his expression instantly darkened. He abruptly looked up and glared furiously at Father Agner.

"I asked you to recount last time, and you've come back with this pittance?"

Victor was both desperate and enraged. He stared at the numbers and Father Agner as if they were mortal enemies, his voice trembling. "Tithes, land rents, and Benevolence taxes all combined—it's a full three million four hundred thousand silver coins less than last year's tithes alone. The total sum doesn't even reach twenty-seven million silver coins."

"How am I supposed to explain this to the Pope and the Archbishops!?"

"Are you trying to drive me mad!"

The moment the words left his mouth, a ledger as thick as a brick was hurled mercilessly at Father Agner's head.

Father Agner naturally dared not dodge. He could only endure the dull "thud"—a sound that clearly indicated he had been struck hard.

But Victor cared nothing for whether Agner lived or died; he already felt that the gazes of the Pope and the Archbishops would kill him a thousand times over in the next second.

"You'll be the death of me."

"Have you no other explanation?"

Father Agner's expression was hesitant, but after a pause, he chose to continue. "In the past three years, we requested donative funds from the Imperial House and the various Duchies for the recasting of holy statues."

In truth, it was merely to cover the fiscal shortfall.

Father Agner paused. "But when we made the same request this year, the responses were few and far between. Their uncooperative attitude is plain to see; some gave less, others refused outright, stating that Duke Claude of the Northern Territory has never submitted a single payment, so why should they be the ones constantly footing the bill?"

"Now, several small Duchies in the Eastern Territory have begun to emulate the Northern Territory's stance."

They were never fools to begin with; they merely cooperated with the Church's decisions out of deference to its power.

Furthermore, due to the frequent outbreaks of the Black Death across the lands in recent years, deficits are everywhere. Even the Church in the most devout Duchy of Fairmont had to go to old noble families and drain their family fortunes just to meet the sum of their annual tribute.

The Church, however, was unwilling to lower the tribute quotas, and the secular nobles grew increasingly disobedient.

Now that maritime trade has become more frequent, the true wealth is beginning to concentrate in the hands of the merchant houses; even the nobles can produce no more coin.

In fact, Father Agner now believes the gravest danger is not the decrease in tax revenue, but the emergence of public debates on the Black Death between theologians and natural philosophers, even here in the Holy Capital.

The former argue that the widespread plague is divine punishment, and that only through introspection and penance can forgiveness be obtained.

The latter argue that disease stems from contaminated water and air, unclean environments, or even an imbalance of the body's humors. They believe that by finding the right medicinal treatment, a practical solution can be discovered.

Recently, natural philosophers have been discussing the necessity of isolating the sick rather than continuing mass prayer gatherings, and they are being vehemently denounced by theological scholars.

And Father Agner feels he sees less and less public resistance or aversion to the words of these natural philosophers.

A dangerous alarm bell tolls within his heart.

It speaks to the priest in a clear, powerful voice: "The authority of the Church is loosening in the hearts of the people."

On the other hand, upon hearing mention of the Duke of the Northern Territory, Victor could not suppress a low curse. "...That exiled madman."

Cardinal Victor had personally witnessed that Claude, without a second word, run a Cardinal through before a crowd of onlookers.

Everyone considers him a lunatic, one who ought to be sealed away by the Northern Territory's ice and snow, never permitted to take a single step outside.

"Should he dare set one foot out of the North, the Emperor would have him executed immediately. Do these others wish to be exiled as well?"

Cardinal Victor followed with a cold snort and then asked, "That Claude refuses to pay. But isn't the Northern Territory's Church still paying? How much did the Diocese of Carson remit this year?"

Father Agner hastily flipped open the ledger and handed it over.

"...One hundred fifty thousand silver coins?" Victor's expression grew even darker. "Wasn't it always three hundred thousand and above in previous years?"

"Who swallowed the rest?"

Father Agner explained quietly, "Bishop Hugo has established new schools. A large portion of the funds is being used to support the neighboring Diocese of Savoy."

"...We never should have allowed him to open any school!" Victor fumed irritably. "What kind of faithful can you cultivate in such a barbaric region?"

He immediately flipped to the page for the Diocese of Savoy. "Didn't they claim to have attracted many new faithful? And they can't even produce twenty thousand silver coins—how destitute is this place?"

As Cardinal Victor spoke, he couldn't help but pound his fist on the table, saying he should be replaced. That new Bishop must certainly be a protégé of Hugo's, propped up by him directly. Throwing money at impoverished believers is a business deal that ensures only losses. That old man is truly... His back stiffened, and he dared not even breathe too loudly.

Personnel transfers are the domain of Cardinal Kyle.

Once targeted by him, the mildest consequence is demotion, the most severe is expulsion from the ecclesiastical order.

Anyone who dares meddle in his territory will sooner or later have their hide stripped off.

The air grew stagnant for a moment. What irritated Cardinal Victor most was this very thing—the profound silence precisely when someone ought to speak.

The Cardinal's brow furrowed. He whipped his head around, ready to berate Father Agner, but was met with a chilling smile instead.

The moment their eyes met, for Cardinal Kyle, this was an open door through which he could step and speak freely.

He pushed the door open, standing in the doorway as he said, "I heard you cursing someone and came to see what the fuss was about."

Cardinal Victor instinctively leaned back in his chair.

From Victor's perspective, those who came of age during the Empire's bloody upheaval were mostly a bit unhinged.

Setting aside Claude, who is a madman without question.

Cardinal Kyle is also shockingly ruthless, particularly adept at applying torture.

Now the Emperor spends his days lost in the pursuit of alchemy.

Adelaide, married off to a distant land, is rumored to be no longer as docile and obedient as before, and even Odora, who died young, followed suit in hysterics—it is as if this world fundamentally cannot accommodate them.

They are like creatures caught by the throat, forced to let out piercing screams, to exert every ounce of strength and madness, just to carve out a sliver of survival.

Cardinal Kyle stood in the doorway, his pupils glinting with a cold light, his tone light but barbed. "The treasury is short on funds. Need any assistance?"

The corner of his mouth curled upward, his smile like honey laced with venom, imbued with an unspoken, viscous malice.

Victor naturally did not believe he had truly come to help. Suppressing his deep-seated aversion, he forced a calm demeanor. "We can handle this ourselves."

Kyle did not wait for him to finish, but went on speaking directly. "Personnel matters in the Northern Territory are not yours to meddle with. The Pope has his own arrangements."

He paused. "Bishop Hugo was my teacher. Keep your tongue clean."

With those words, he turned and left without a backward glance.

Victor stared at his retreating figure and muttered under his breath, "Those must be the ears of a dog... he can hear everything clear as day through a closed door."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than those familiar footsteps outside the door actually reversed course.

"What have you come back for—" Victor couldn't finish his sentence before clutching his chest in fright.

Kyle looked at him expressionlessly, his tone terrifyingly indifferent. "Forgot to remind you. Don't walk ahead of me in the future."

"Why?" Victor asked, frowning uneasily.

Kyle actually smiled. "Because when I see your back, it looks so much like a ball, my hands itch to give it a shove. Watching you tumble down a flight of stairs would be quite the spectacle."

"Are you insane!" Victor practically leapt up from his seat—not out of rage to charge at him, but out of sheer terror, ready to bolt.

Kyle tilted his head, unmoved. "Do you think I wouldn't dare?"

"..."

There was a silence of four or five minutes after Kyle departed.

And for that entire stretch, Victor stood locked in a standoff with the very air, completely motionless.

He was like a startled rabbit, unwilling to tolerate even the slightest rustle in the breeze.

Once he was absolutely certain Kyle would not return again, Victor immediately beckoned Father Agner to close the door. His speech quickened noticeably, as if he must finish speaking before the heavy atmosphere could resettle.

"We still cannot let the shortfall be too vast," he said in a low voice. "Have Cardinal Otto's office allocate more relief funds. Also, aren't there many people fleeing the Black Death arriving now? A large number are coming from the Duchy of Sermon, mostly middle and upper-class families—nobles, merchants, and the like..."

A calculating gleam flickered through his brows and eyes, and his voice dropped even lower. "Sell indulgences to every household. You and I both know, which family doesn't have a base of one or two hundred thousand silver coins? Just make them believe it's the ticket to enter the Church's protection... First, gather two million. We can piece the sum together quickly."

The room fell momentarily quiet.

Father Agner looked up, his tone involuntarily slowing a beat. "...And then, what will become of them afterward?"

Victor was taken aback. "What?"

Agner did not answer immediately. He merely lowered his head to adjust the sleeves of his robe, as if the question he had just asked was not worth repeating. He murmured softly, "...It's nothing."

His voice was as light as the wind, so faint that even he himself could barely hear it.

Victor did not press further, utterly unconcerned with Agner's distress. "Do your best to accomplish this by month's end. If they refuse to buy indulgences, drive them out. Call up a knightly retinue and travel alongside them."

"..."

Agner understood perfectly well in his heart that after those people spent their life savings purchasing indulgences, what they would face would not be divine blessing, but a sickness far deeper and more despairing—poverty.

"As for the Bishop of the Savoy Diocese..." Victor's voice continued on.

Father Agner once again held his breath, straining his ears to listen attentively. "..."

He waited a moment but heard no continuation. Subconsciously, he glanced at Cardinal Victor.

Though it was only a fleeting moment, he sensed Cardinal Victor's vigilance and a guarded reluctance to reveal more.

And in the next second, Cardinal Victor said, "Go attend to your duties. I expect to see presentable figures before the month is out."

Father Agner asked no further questions and took his leave of his own accord.

Yet he felt that within Victor's unfinished words, arrangements regarding personnel in the Northern Territory had already been made.

*

Diocese of Savoy.

Daylight streamed down through the leaves and the window, shattering into a patchwork of gloomy mottled shadows upon the floor.

Veronica sat on the sickbed, her expression heavy with gloom, her face bearing a look of frozen lament like a solidified dark shadow.

She slowly began to speak, her voice light as a feather, yet cold as a blade. "Why didn't you save me?"

Shu Li knew that in the original novel, only a very small number of individuals possess power.

Yet their power did not become an advantage to change the world, nor did it bring about earth-shattering consequences.

The vast majority of people are ordinary.

Strictly speaking, this is also an ordinary world.

Just like those novels where only the main characters have special abilities, only specific figures are unique; the overwhelming majority still live simple, unadorned lives.

And Veronica was no exception—she possessed no power.

Because he had the original novel as a reference;

Furthermore, from the first time Shu Li met Veronica four years ago, he knew that she and the man killed by Duke Claude shared the same family surname.

And over these years, Veronica had been constantly searching for Matthew's whereabouts.

Therefore, he knew with absolute clarity that, at this moment, Veronica was trying to bluff him.

She simply wanted to know if he knew Matthew or not.

She was gambling, betting on whether he remembered the man who was already dead.

She was also waiting—for a denial or a moment's hesitation.

Yes, Shu Li not only knew him, but had also helped bury Dr. Matthew.

Precisely because of this, Shu Li remembered with crystal clarity Matthew's mood and state at the time—he had been more concerned that the design blueprint might fall into the Duke's hands than with whether he himself would be saved.

As for Veronica's current act, to Shu Li, it was fundamentally riddled with flaws.

However, if Matthew's restless spirit truly came to settle accounts with him, Shu Li did not believe he was responsible for his life or death.

Under the weight of tyranny, his own survival had depended on quick wits.

He had not known the Duke would appear then, either.

And because of Dr. Matthew, Shu Li had been targeted by Duke Claude himself.

Shu Li felt that if accounts were to be settled, his conscience was undoubtedly clear, and he would see it through to the end.

As things stood, why did Shu Li, knowing the truth, continue to evade Veronica?

Simply because Shu Li was deeply aware of the profound ill-fated connection between her, Finnian, and Leslie. Therefore, he was not particularly willing to become the one who overturns the current state of peace.

Even if the balance were to be upset one day, Shu Li would not be the person to shatter that peace.

Thus—

He fixed his gaze steadily upon Veronica, his eyes clear and restrained, and said calmly, "Veronica, you are lucid right now, aren't you?"

Veronica froze for a moment. The hidden emotion deep within her eyes subtly wavered, like a mask on the verge of shattering, spiderwebbing with fine cracks visible to the naked eye.

But inwardly, she knew she must not panic. She quickly tried to recapture that state of collapse and confusion, her voice trembling slightly.

However, before she could respond this time, Shu Li gave her no quarter, cutting off her performance. "You know, you can't fool me. Right?"

That rumor—"Bishop Alice can see into the hearts of men"—rippled through the minds of the three people present in the small infirmary.

A silence spread in its wake, and even the sound of the wind seemed to freeze for an instant.

Slowly, under the gazes of Yvonne and Casca, Veronica, who had initially seemed like a different person altogether, stiffened like a statue, her fingertips trembling faintly.

Shu Li paused, his tone gentle. "Has life been very difficult for you?"

And within those eyes that had been feigning venomous resentment, a trace of genuine panic finally surfaced.